


The Last Five Years

by Galpalkru



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Side Staubrey, minor smut, the last five years au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galpalkru/pseuds/Galpalkru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The movie/musical The Last Five Years, Bechloe style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> So I was inspired by my current Anna Kendrick marathon, after tonight’s double-header of Up In the Air and The Last Five Years. Now, if you’ve seen either of those, you can probably guess that this is not gonna be a particularly happy fic (because even what I set out to write as happy/humorous becomes angsty in the end, so why not). As promised in the tags, there will be fluff, there will be humor, but I will be sticking loosely to the source material. Obviously, this is not a musical, so the transition may be a bit strange, but I wanted to write it anyways. So strap in, enjoy, and feel free to imagine your own musical version as you see fit.
> 
> Oh, as a note on the source material in case you haven’t seen it. The story is told in opposite chronological directions from the perspective of the two main characters throughout their five-year relationship. In this case, I’ll split it into Beca and Chloe’s POVs, with Chloe’s POVs starting at the end of their relationship and moving backwards and Beca’s at the beginning and moving forwards. Hopefully that is clear…ish. For anyone who really knows the musical, I played around with some of the songs, sort of combining Climbing Uphill with When You Come Home to Me and putting it before A Miracle Would Happen so I wouldn’t have two Beca POVs in a row. And then part of Climbing Uphill after. Any other changes can probably be easily figured out. Anyways, here we go.

“So she’s just gone?”

 

It would have been easier to have this conversation over the phone. That had been Chloe’s plan, but all subtlety and pretense went out the window when she had burst into tears the second she’d heard Aubrey’s voice. This led to a Skype session, which had led to Aubrey booking the next ticket to LA, showing up at the door of their apartment at six AM.

 

Her apartment.

 

The front table was covered in a fine layer of dust, maybe even just pollen, untouched for the last two days. It stood there like a void, sucking all the life and breath and color out of the space, leaving nothing but dreams and broken promises.

 

They sat at the couch in front of the fireplace, and Aubrey’s hand hadn’t stopped touching Chloe since she’d arrived, squeezing her shoulder, placing a kiss to her forehead, holding her hand to cover up the tan line on her fourth finger that seemed more and more like a scar.

 

“Yeah.” It echoed throughout an apartment that was far too empty. Not that the apartment’s other occupant taken too much when she left, despite the fact that, legally and financially speaking, she owned almost everything in the place. Not that the she’d been able to occupy too much space physically, either, but no matter how many lights Chloe turned on, no matter how many chairs she rearranged and pressed together to fill the space or blankets that she pulled out of cupboards to dampen that damn echo, it remained.

 

Aubrey sighed, clasping Chloe’s hand again as she shook her head slowly. She’d been doing this ceaselessly, and Chloe couldn’t help but wonder whether it was from shock or from thinking she’d been right all along. “Did she say anything? Call or…?”

 

“She just left the note.” Chloe hadn’t even dared to touch it when she’d first found it, messy and scribbled and smudged over the lines because its writer was left-handed and yet she refused to use anything other than pens, leaving ink marks splashed across the page because she was too impatient to wait even a second for her words to dry. “And her keys.” She swallowed, willing the tears back down. “And the ring.”

 

“She didn’t even have the decency to call? What—“

 

“—I didn’t have great cell service. Maybe she…” And she couldn’t do it anymore. It was reflexive at that point, after god knows how long she’d had to come up with excuses for forgotten dates, late nights at the studio, lipstick stains and damning marks on her neck. It was easier to blurt out these canned excuses than to admit that her marriage, her relationship, everything she’d lived for over the past five years had been broken.

 

The tears came again. Chloe knew that she had to be a complete mess at this point, burrowed away in her apartment with the shut blinds and the same makeup that she’d been wearing when she’d first gotten home smeared across her face. The Chloe of the past would have been horrified, always ready to dash off to an audition if the opportunity arose, confident that the next call was going to be _the_ break. But this Chloe hadn’t heard from her agent in months, and this Chloe couldn’t summon up the will to care.

 

“Don’t excuse her. It’s not your fault that she has more problems than anyone could be expected to deal with.”

 

“She says they’re my problems.” Aubrey opened her mouth and seemed to think better of it as Chloe’s eyes met hers, wide and open and wrecked. “If they’re my problems, it makes it easier for her to be fine.”

 

“And she gets to choose who gets to be fine? When this is done?” Aubrey crossed the room to the table, ignoring Chloe’s weak cry of protest as she seized the note, reading it for the first time with her own eyes. “Something wonderful died, and this is the only way to do what’s _right?’”_ She turned to Chloe, daring her to be angry.

 

But she couldn’t manage it. All she could echo were those words that were burned into her eyes, painful script from a sloppy hand that didn’t have the decency to cover its own tracks in any area. “’It’s time to move on. It’s the only way for either of us to have a chance.’” Aubrey dropped the letter onto the floor, grabbing Chloe’s hands as the redhead refused to shake her eyes from the thin profile of the ring on the table. “It won’t stop hurting, Bree. Beca is gone.” 

* * *

 

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have sex with the only person who you knew in LA in your first week there, especially if that person also happened to be your best friend of four years. But exceptions could and had to be made for Chloe Beale.

 

Beca found herself pressed against a pile of packing boxes, Chloe’s mouth on her jawline. “Oh god,” she breathed as Chloe’s hand untucked her shirt and slipped long fingers up against her abdomen. “Are we really doing this?”

 

Chloe pulled back, eyes bright and wild, lipstick slightly smudged. It was the first time that Beca had seen her look even slightly less than immaculate, and it was hot as all hell. “Are you having second thoughts?”

 

“Hell no,” Beca said, eyes shamelessly trailing up and down Chloe’s body. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t.”

 

The redhead scoffed, shifting her palms up to rest flat against the boxes on either side of Beca’s head. “I’ve been thinking about this for four years. Just waiting on you.”

 

And Beca could not attribute the heat coursing through her body to the Los Angeles summer and her apartment’s current lack of air conditioning. Really, as Chloe leaned in again, strategically fitting her thigh between Beca’s, all Beca could do was curse her past self for not hooking up with Chloe sooner. Chloe pressed her leg further against Beca with a wicked grin on her lips, prompting a string of unintelligible expletives from the smaller girl.

 

“Just—just,” Beca gasped, hands pushing a pouting Chloe out by her waist. “Give me a moment to catch my breath.”

 

Chloe smirked, stepping backwards with her hands held up innocently. “I was hoping you’d have a bit more stamina than that after years of Bella-required cardio.” As Beca opened her mouth to protest, Chloe took the opportunity to pull off her tank top, twirling it carelessly around her finger before flinging it across the room. “That long enough for you?”

 

And Beca was gone. Those hips, those abs, those goddamn perfect breasts. It almost made her consider the possibilities of sex with one party fully clothed, because while Beca knew she was a relatively attractive woman, this was something beyond human. Yeah, she’d seen Chloe naked before, but a brief, semi-traumatizing, forced duet in a shower wasn’t the best opportunity to appreciate the honestly intimidating flawlessness in front of her.

 

“Okay, now you’re just not playing fair.” Chloe laughed, leaning back against the table behind her as Beca placed a line of kisses down from her collarbone, thumbs digging into sharp hipbones and working off the shorts hanging from the redhead’s hips. With a groan, Chloe’s hands found purchase in Beca’s hair when she pushed aside her underwear and slid her fingers lightly over Chloe’s folds.

 

Beca looked up with a wink, sliding back on her knees to gain a better angle before shoving her elbow into a box behind her, diving to narrowly avoid being crushed by her ‘Assorted Shit’ as it fell to the ground. Pressed into a tiny space between Chloe’s left leg and another pile of boxes, she shook her head with a chuckle.

 

“Now that’s what you call sexy,” she said, accepting Chloe’s hand to pull her up.

 

“I told you to unpack earlier.” And yeah, maybe Beca had only bothered to clear a precarious path from the front door to her bedroom, but she’d really been a bit overwhelmed by how much shit someone could accumulate in four years of college.

 

Beca placed a hand on Chloe’s waist, slowly sliding around her body until she was standing between her friend’s legs. “You also didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of free time to myself.” Her hands slid slowly up Chloe’s body, and her mouth sucked on the pressure point at the base of her neck as the other girl’s head dropped back, her arms shaking to hold herself up on the table.

 

“Well,” Chloe managed between quivering breaths. “I think the table’s a no-go too, unless you have some weird kink for having sex on stacks of old vinyl.”

 

Beca grinned from her location right above Chloe’s chest. “Nah, that was more Jesse’s thing.”

 

“I’d rather not— _shit_ —hear much about Jesse right now.” Chloe, seemingly having lost hope in her ability to hold herself up, latched her hands around Beca’s waist. “Was that rumor about you and Stacie true too?”

 

At this point, Beca was pretty sure she could have said anything, one hand dragging over the sensitive skin on Chloe’s stomach as the other cupped her ass, an intermittent stream of curses flowing from the other girl’s lips. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring up the one about Aubrey, either.”

 

Chloe pulled Beca’s chin up to face her. “That, I know is bullshit.” Beca wiggled her eyebrows. “NO.”

 

She couldn’t keep up the façade though, not as Chloe’s hands slipped into the back of her shorts. “Okay, okay,” Beca laughed. “That one’s a rumor. She’s not my type.”

 

“You have a specific type now?” Chloe maddeningly bit her lip, those perfectly expressive eyes hooded and twinkling.

 

Beca slowly reached around Chloe’s back. “Maybe,” she whispered, lips traipsing down Chloe’s chest as she deftly undid her bra clasp. “Tall…er. Generally some sort of uncommon hair color, almost offensively in shape, no physical boundaries.” As Chloe’s bra fell to the floor, she looked up again. “Ring a bell?”

 

“Someone like…”

 

“You.”

 

And after some maneuvering, they eventually made it work on a shorter stack of boxes, Chloe biting into Beca’s shoulder as she came. In return, Beca left long, red marks down Chloe’s back as they gave up and just dropped her shirt onto the floor for a softer surface.

 

As Beca lay there, head tucked up under Chloe’s shoulder, she couldn’t help but feel that she’d just been waiting for something like this. And dear god was it confirmed as Chloe of the endless dancer’s stamina climbed back on top of her with nothing but a whispered, “round two.” 

* * *

 

To a lot of people, it probably seemed romantic to get butterflies in your stomach when you saw your wife, even after five years of marriage. It would seem sweet to most to run outside when you heard a car coming up the gravel driveway, to nervously fix your hair and your makeup and try to fiddle with that stupid scarf you’d taken from the costume department as a joke. But butterflies were sometimes simply mistaken nerves and foreboding, and it was pretty damn important to look good for the one time you’d see someone in three months.

 

And so Chloe took a deep breath, walking down the path from her cabin as slowly and nonchalantly as she could manage. But all pretense went out the window the second she saw Beca, back to her and looking out across the lake with her phone pressed to her ear.

 

Chloe slipped her arms around her wife’s waist, placing a kiss to the back of her head as Beca jumped. “Jesus, Chlo!” She shook her head, slowly turning around with the phone still against her face, her eyes squarely on the cabin behind Chloe’s back. “Yeah, sorry, Mike. I’m in Colorado. Yeah. Um, I can do that. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay, thanks.” She ended the call with a huff, leaning half-heartedly into Chloe’s hug.

 

“Sorry about that,” Chloe said, stepping back with an all-too-practiced grin on her face.

 

Beca looked up, shooting Chloe that smile that still had a hypnotic hold on her even after everything. “It’s fine.” She’d gotten a haircut, one of those undercuts that seemed to be all the rage among edgy creative types. It served to define the angles and edges of her face even more than usual, and it almost reminded Chloe of the Beca who skulked around campus, ‘ear monstrosities’ serving as both an armor and a warning to get the hell out of her way. “Mike says hi.”

 

“Which one is that again?”

 

Rolling up the sleeves of her blazer that probably cost more than Chloe would make all summer, Beca sighed. “He’s the publicist at the label. The one you always call the Oompa Loompa?”

 

“It’s LA. You’d think people wouldn’t have to resort to spray tans.” Beca responded with a slight snort of laughter, standing on her toes to place a chaste kiss on Chloe’s lips.

 

“I missed you,” she said. Plain and simple. It came with an ease that could be either from honesty or from having said it too many times; Chloe would even have taken some combination of the two. Beca threaded their hands together, turning around to face the lake with a distant gaze. “It really is beautiful here.”

 

“I told you.” Chloe led her down the shaded path, arms swinging as the soft breeze swept over them. “Though I’m honestly getting sick of it after a few years.”

 

Beca hummed in response, eyes scanning the vibrant landscape in front of them. “It almost looks like Barden.” It was with a wistful tone that tugged at Chloe’s stomach, forcing her to fight back tears that she herself couldn’t even interpret fully.

 

They came to a dock on the edge of the lake, unsurprisingly deserted because who really comes to an ‘acting retreat’ in the middle of Colorado besides wannabe Hollywood washouts. But she couldn’t be thinking like that today; she’d finally gotten Beca out here and that had to be some sort of good sign, right?

 

Chloe sat down, feet hanging out over the water, and patted the spot next to her. Flashing her that same enigmatic smile, Beca kicked the dirt away before settling down, cross-legged as always. She finally noticed the scarf around Chloe’s neck, reaching up and lightly tugging on the material.

 

“And what’s that?”

 

It felt normal. Chloe beamed and turned, surely with that ‘golden retriever’ grin, as Beca called it. “Look like anything familiar?”

 

Beca squinted more closely, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin on Chloe’s neck as she turned it. “Is that a Bella scarf? Where the hell did you get that?”

 

“Well, not _exactly_ a Bella scarf,” Chloe replied. “I stole it from the costume shop; they’d done some rock opera recently about Bonnie  & Clyde as airplane stewardesses or something. But I figured it was close enough to be like old times?” She couldn’t help the hopeful note at the end of the sentence, and Beca’s face contorted briefly before her eyes dropped.

 

And there was that all too familiar uncomfortable silence. It was almost a choreographed routine at this point; Beca would look away, Chloe would sit there for as long as she physically could manage or until Beca pulled out her phone and tried to disappear, and then any illusion they’d managed to pull together of a functioning relationship would shatter. But she wasn’t going to let it today. No, even if she had to bend and yield and swallow every emotion that threatened to come up, everything was going to be fine. She was going to fix it, and everything was going to be okay.

 

“Next thing you know, you’ll be charging across an activities fair at me with a clipboard.” Beca had taken the lead this time, a tentative smile on her face, her eyes searching Chloe’s as she took her hand again.

 

“I did not charge! I merely walked around the table and tried to make a friend.” She squeezed Beca’s hand, and they were laughing. Everything was going to be okay. “But Becs, I’m really glad you’re here.” And she desperately wanted to bring up the fight, to work something out that would be more than a bandage to get them through the next month apart, but it was easier to just start babbling, to just appreciate the fact that Beca was actually here and holding her hand and talking.

 

“Anyways, I think you came the best week. Last week was original rock operas and I personally don’t think that I look my best in a cone bra but maybe that’s something we could revisit another time?” Beca laughed again, a certain hollow note breaking through the increasingly obvious forced mirth.

 

And so Chloe was going again, talking about the show and how there might actually be a reviewer there this time and one of her co-stars had had a brief run on Off-Broadway, so it was really a valuable learning experience regardless. “I think it’ll be a great start for the weekend. And we can talk about…” Beca had flinched, her eyes wandering again and her hand slackening in Chloe’s grasp. “What?”

 

Beca swallowed, biting her lip as she dragged her eyes back up to meet Chloe’s. “I actually need to go back sooner than I thought.”

 

“Oh.” Chloe’s smile only widened, cracking and spreading those lines by her eyes that, no matter how faint they were, set her apart in the worst way possible from the thousands of other girls auditioning for the same roles. “Okay, well that’s fine. Tonight’ll just have to make up for all of it.”

 

And there was the apologetic half-grin. “Beca. Don’t tell me.”

 

“I couldn’t get a flight tomorrow morning.” Chloe stood up, hands shaking as every emotion she’d been suppressing came bubbling to the surface. “I tried, Chloe, I really did.”

 

“I’m _sure_ ,” Chloe spat. “I’m sure you lost a lot of sleep over that, Becs.”

 

“Chloe.”

 

“No!” It was rare that Chloe used her height advantage on Beca, but damn if it didn’t feel good to be staring down even after the brunette had slowly followed her to her feet. “You know what, I try not to be the crazy wife, even though that’s what you want me to be—don’t deny it, Beca; it would be so much easier to just write me off as some shrill, controlling shrew. I try, but it just drives me nuts that you’re blowing me off to go back to a party with the same group of people to tell the same jokes and drink the same drinks before you sneak off with one of your girlfriends and try to hide it.”

 

Beca grimaced, eyes on the dock below them. “Chloe, c’mon.”

 

“And you’re choosing all of those people, those pretentious assholes, Beca, and you know you are. You’re choosing them over me on my fucking birthday, out of all days.” She dropped her hands to her sides, turning to lean on the dock railing behind her. “God knows if you even remembered that.”

 

“The label needs me to be there.” It was weak; they both knew it, and Beca let it fall flat between them. “Can’t we…can’t we just enjoy the time that we have?”

 

“I’d love to just stand here and listen to you, Beca.” Chloe turned slowly, hands raised in mock deference. “’The DJ who created the sound of the century.’ Who wouldn’t want to hear about that all the time?”

 

“That’s not fair—“

 

“All Beca, all the time. Created the sound for the new Bellas and then the world. It must’ve been _amazing_ to see her progression and to watch her grow.” It was the same set of questions from beneficent individuals who felt sorry enough for Chloe at parties to even bother to come over and talk to her, nodding politely, maybe even having the decency to ask about how they’d met. But they’d leave the second Beca was free, staring through Chloe the whole time she talked, a cheap substitution for the woman of the hour.

 

“And it has to be embarrassing for you at this point. The failure of a wife who didn’t have the common decency to just give up and completely fade to the background to live off of her successful spouse.” The tears fell freely at this point, smudging the immaculately applied makeup and falling, salty and hot onto her lips. “Hell, I don’t even know if I qualify as an other _half_ at this point.”

 

And Beca looked up at her, and the worst insult of all was the passivity in those deep blue eyes. It was a look developed after too many late-night fights, fueled by open bars and clipped speech and Beca’s wandering eyes. It was a look of finality, of acceptance. She stepped forwards, arm reaching for Chloe’s hand in some desperate attempt to fake concern with physical affection.

 

Chloe pulled back, eyes across the lake. “No. You should just go.”

 

“Chloe.”

 

“Beca, _please_. Just go.” She heard the sigh, heavy and tired, and swore she could feel Beca take a step forwards, only to rethink it. There was a slight rustling sound before she spoke.

 

“Happy Birthday.” Footsteps led away from the dock, and Chloe only trusted herself to turn when she heard the sound of a car engine.

 

On the back railing of the dock sat a small box, impeccably wrapped and adorned with a satin bow on top, clearly not prepared by Beca’s hand. The temptation was there to grab the gift, flinging it far into the lake to just be forgotten forever, but Chloe picked it up with trembling hands, dropping the wrapping paper onto the dock.

 

Inside the box was a silver pitch pipe, a baby blue cursive B on the front. She turned it over, running her fingers over the engraving on the back. ‘To Chloe: Always There to Give Me the First Note.’

* * *

For the sake of posterity, Beca wished she’d been doing something more interesting when she got the call. Hanging upside down off a ratty, stained couch and dropping popcorn into her mouth didn’t seem like great context for a career-defining moment, but maybe that was the way it always went. Regardless, she’d barely made it over to the half-unpacked box on which her phone sat to pick up in time, Smartfood bag still in the other hand.

 

So she almost choked on the popcorn in her mouth a moment later as the voice on the other side of the line informed her, rather enthusiastically, that he’d heard her mix, loved it, and wanted to bring her in to talk about an EP. Beca swore she blacked out for the next minute, fading back in as the phrase ‘the next David Guetta’ was being thrown around.

 

She choked out as many ‘yes’s’ as she could manage, miraculously avoided using the word ‘stoked,’ and hung up with a squeaky ‘thank you’ before falling on her knees to the floor with a screech. It was happening. Three months in LA, the woman of anyone’s dreams, and she was skipping about fifteen steps on her career path.

 

Beca sat there for a second, staring at the phone in her hand and half expecting the man to call back, saying that it had all been a mistake or a prank and dooming her to another ten years of piecing together mixes, watching YouTube videos late into the night after work, praying that she’d happen upon someone worthwhile who’d actually be willing to work with her. After twenty minutes, she decided that maybe it had not all been a hallucination, calling the only favorited number on her phone.

 

“Beca?” She could barely make out Chloe’s voice over the din of vocal exercises and high-pitched dramatic wailing around her. Of course she’d had an audition today, and Beca had forgotten to send her the good luck emoji (a ladybug), but, in her defense, she’d been doing clearly important things before getting the call. Okay, maybe she was just a completely spacey idiot, but her girlfriend had more than enough sentiment for both of them.

 

Beca took a deep breath, knowing that Chloe did not need any more spastic women screaming in her ear. “Chloe, I got the call.”

 

“You got the what?”

 

“The call.” Over on the side, she could faintly make out an intense debate between two women about one stealing the other’s specific shade of hair dye as deliberate sabotage. “I’m getting an EP.”

 

Not that Beca should have been particularly concerned about the background noise when the other girl was just going to deafen her with a shriek loud enough to shake the phone out of her hands. By the time she’d recovered it, she could hear Chloe’s voice clearly without any sort of environmental distraction. “Okay, say that again.”

 

Beca grinned, Chloe’s voice, as always, spreading that familiar warmth and comfort throughout her body. “Someone wants to sign me, Chlo.”

 

“Damn right they do!” Chloe was out of breath, whether from excitement or running out of wherever she’d been previously. “I’m so proud, Beca. You deserve this, you really do.” And it was genuine. Chloe somehow had enough positivity in her body that she could share it with Beca, no matter how many shitty auditions she’d had, no matter how many casting directors had cut her off in the middle of a monologue or asked precisely what a ‘Bella’ was. No matter how down she was, she always wanted to lift Beca up.

 

And it was that lift that allowed Beca to let her truly crazy idea spill out of her mouth. “Do you want to move in with me?” She blurted it out, squinting as if in pain and feeling immensely thrilled that this was happening over the phone. “I mean, your apartment is falling apart and let’s be honest, I’m not completely unpacked yet and we spend 90% of our time sleeping over at each other’s and—“

 

“Beca.” Her fingers tightened around the phone as she finally managed to stop the stream of words pouring out of her mouth. “Of course I do.”

 

“You don’t think it’s moving too fast?”

 

Chloe snorted. “I think we took it slowly enough, the whole four years of college thing and all. I’d love to.”

 

“I love you,” Beca murmured.

 

“Yeah, and you’re a secret softy.” She could hear Chloe’s slow smile growing over the phone. “I love you too. But I’m also currently missing my audition, so please wait out the paparazzi long enough for me to get back.”

 

“Nerd.”

 

“Dork.” Beca hung up, sliding back until she sat against the wall behind her. It was almost terrifying, honestly. She knew that her music was good, but if her internship senior year had taught her anything, there were thousands of other DJ wannabes all over throwing mixtapes at producers, only to end up working the 3 AM shift at a country-reggae fusion station. But this was it. This was a real label, a producer who probably had a trophy room somewhere larger than Beca’s apartment, and an opportunity to prove that Emily’s record hadn’t been a fluke.

 

And Chloe would be there, holding Beca’s hand at parties and drawing every envious eye in the room; listening, as always, to six thousand different iterations of the same song, assuring her that they were all flawless, instant classics on par with Taylor Swift or even, dare she say it, Beyonce. She’d gone over every detail of Beca’s life and goals with her too many times to count, ending every conversation with “I believe in you.” 

 

Beca’s plan, falling precisely into line. She kind of had to believe in it too.

* * *

 

Maybe it was really that she hated her dress. Chloe was running out of options at this point, her wardrobe stretched thin after seemingly endless galas and parties and interviews. The fact was that the majority of any paycheck she could scrape up was going towards avoiding hitting page six as ‘Star DJ/Producer Beca Mitchell’s serial outfit repeating wife.’ Of course, Beca had offered to cover these costs, and Chloe would’ve been lying if she said she hadn’t swooned over a dress or two and found it laid out on her bed when she got home the next day, but she still had some semblance of pride lying around somewhere.

 

The rest of the ‘plus ones’ around her, as she’d come to call them, were mingling with confidence, probably in custom-tailored suits and gowns from designers whose names Chloe couldn’t even spell. Beca, of course, was in some red Valentino gown that she assured Chloe was just on loan and had been made for some tiny starlet who had started showing her baby bump sooner than anticipated. Not that Chloe was complaining; Beca in a perfectly fitted dress with her hair cascading down her shoulders was probably one of the best sights possible, although Beca in a perfectly tailored suit was up there as well.

 

At this moment, Beca was speaking with a pair of reporters and some orange-skinned publicist in a tacky white suit from the label. Her back was to Chloe, but the disaffected Beca shrug was in full force. Thankfully, she’d found a career where a nonchalant, distant demeanor gave her an air of mystery instead of just making her seem like a complete asshole.

 

Chloe sipped her drink slowly, the stupid paper umbrella bouncing against her nose. The other plus ones had somehow mastered the ability to drink the horrible concoction that is a martini; the men standing there by the bar with the perfect amount of practiced distaste for the world while the women gossiped in packs, fingers delicately and professionally placed on the edge of the glass in a manner that Chloe had at one point tried to emulate.

 

But she’d take her obnoxious pink, fruity drink that didn’t taste like olives and death any day. So she was on her fourth, but Beca seemed to have no intention to leave any time soon. It had surprised her at first; Beca Mitchell, the social butterfly was not a thought Chloe had ever anticipated to accept. But these people adored her, from her style (‘so retro grunge and edgy’) to her music (‘taking things that seem _so_ opposite but making them just _so_ right’). Of course, these were things Chloe had appreciated long before Beca had a record deal and a direct line to Beyonce.

 

“You’re Beca Mitchell’s wife, right?” Chloe looked up to see a slim twenty-something with far too much enthusiasm on her face to be a regular at these sorts of events. Chloe beamed, sliding over on the couch to make space for the young woman, who shot her an appreciative grin before sitting down, placing her drink (which Chloe noted was not a martini) on the table.

 

“Chloe,” she said, offering her hand. “And yep, I’m with the DJ.”

 

The other girl laughed. “Guess that’s the new I’m with the band?” Chloe shrugged. “You honestly don’t strike me as much of the groupie type.”

 

The smile became increasingly pasted on, and Chloe took a particularly long sip of the drink that somehow seemed to grow more noticeably neon by the second. “I’ve known Beca for forever. We went to college together. I was actually her co-captain in our a capella group.”

 

“Oh, is that when you two started dating?”

 

It was Chloe’s turn to chuckle. “God no,” she said. “That took a while. I’m not sure I would’ve survived dating college Beca.” The young woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, not that she was a bitch or anything…and I’m just saying everything wrong right now. I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever asked your name.”

 

“Jen Allers. I run a small music blog,” she replied. “Nothing major. I came to this party as my friend Mike’s plus one. He thought it ‘d be a good opportunity for me to make some connections. He’s actually over there, talking to Beca.” She pointed to the Oompa Loompa in the white suit.

 

“Ohhhh yeah.” It was taking all of admittedly drunk Chloe’s effort to prevent herself from concluding the statement with a ‘doopity doo’ and some sort of Wonka-esque shoulder dance. “So is this an interview or something?”

 

Jen shrugged. “I wouldn’t think of it as that. Just talking. You looked a bit lost, which kind of surprised me when I recognized you.”

 

“Lost probably isn’t the right word,” Chloe began slowly. “I’m kind of a pro at these things at this point.” She looked up as Beca let out a particularly loud laugh and looked over her shoulder, shooting Chloe that small smile exclusively reserved for her with a conspiratorial wink.

 

The reporter’s eyes followed them, meeting Chloe’s as she looked back. “You two seem really in love. But a capella co-captains? Beca doesn’t really strike me as the Glee type.”

 

“Well, this may completely wreck her badass rep,” Chloe whispered, leaning in. “But she’s actually a three-time national champion and a Worlds champion in a capella.” Jen snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “I swear. We have the trophies and everything to prove it. Her first ‘revolution in sound’ was for the Barden Bellas.”

 

“So she’s always been a musical trendsetter?”

 

“She’s always been Beca.” Chloe finished her drink, twirling the paper umbrella between her fingers. “Always focused, always determined, always a little crazy. There are times I’ll wake up at 3 AM and she’s in the studio at home. She won’t even notice if I just stand there and watch her for a bit.”

 

Jen nodded, taking a sip of her own drink if only to make it less awkward as Chloe went cross-eyed, sliding the umbrella close and away from her face between her eyes. “But you’ve always been there, by her side and all?”

 

Chloe bit her lip, resting the paper tip on her nose. “I guess I’ve been a part of it,” she said with a wistful smile. “And it sounds like I’m complaining, I know, but she’s Beca. And even if she doesn’t notice me for a while, that look she gives me when she turns around…how could I not want to be there for someone like that?”

 

“She really is incredible.” Beca and Mike left their current circle and headed to the bar, Beca accepting some sort of dark whiskey-looking drink as her companion sipped a disapproving martini. Beca’s gaze wandered, distant and glassy as it would get when she’d break a discussion off right in the middle because she’d come up with some perfect detail to a song, sprinting off to the studio with a million shouted apologies behind her.

 

“But you do look familiar, beyond the society pictures and everything.” Chloe was startled out of her daydreaming. “What do you do?”

 

She groaned, downing the dregs of the drink that had accumulated with the melting ice. “I never should’ve done that infomercial.”

 

“ _Oh_. That would be it.” Right around the time that Beca had gotten her break, Chloe, desperate for a paycheck, had landed a role in an infomercial for some sort of vibrating back massager. As these things often do, a particular segment involving the back massager and what she swore was a sigh of relief had gone viral. When Beca had gotten a more serious agent, the commercial had been taken off the air and mostly forgotten, but a couple million hits could still do some damage.

 

“But yeah, I’m an actress,” Chloe managed, as brightly as she could. “It’s a bit of a crowded game in LA. Obviously. But I have a couple of auditions next week that I’m pretty excited for.” Jen shot her that almost pitying smile that she had received more times than she could count. “It’s nice to be able to support Beca.”

 

It was weak, and the Chloe Beale that had captained the Bellas to four victories would have groaned and forced her to try anything else. And yeah, maybe it hurt her to have an almost daily reminder of her status in Beca’s shadow when she turned on the radio or the E! network or picked up a tabloid, but it was Beca. Beca, who had bought her an old cassette player so she could make her cheesy mix tapes; Beca, who had celebrated their one year anniversary by getting the old crew of Bellas to recreate the disastrous ‘Problem/Promises’ performance because she wanted to make Chloe laugh; Beca, who could shoot her that secret smile and make her forget every comment from every casting director who had turned her down.

 

Jen smiled, picking up the phone Chloe hadn’t noticed on the table and pressing a button. “You seem to be doing it well,” she said as she stood up. “Hey, it looks like our dates are free.” Mike was walking over, waving at the two as he came. “It was nice to talk to you, Chloe.” With another short grin, she pocketed her phone and left, whispering in Mike’s ear as she took his arm.

 

Chloe dropped her head back against the couch, closing her eyes with a sigh. At least it was Beca’s publicist’s friend, so nothing too bad could get out. At another event, Chloe had unknowingly related the story of Beca and her shower encounter to a society writer for the _New York Times_ , resulting in a media storm that Beca had somehow managed to shrug off with a lengthy statement regarding openness about sexuality and the media’s unfair fetishizing of queer female relationships.

 

Lips settled on Chloe’s forehead, and she opened her eyes to meet a pair of navy ones above her. “I see you made a friend.” Beca rounded the couch, taking the seat next to Chloe.

 

“I swear, Becs. The reporters are getting younger and younger.”

 

Beca’s brow furrowed before she spotted Jen standing with Mike. “Oh, that’s just Mike’s girlfriend-hookup type thing.” Chloe chuckled. “Kids these days, right?”

 

“You’re making us sound like an old married couple,” Chloe groaned.

 

“Well, I can think of a few things that old married couples don’t tend to do.” Beca leaned in, nipping at Chloe’s neck as her hand crawled up her thigh. “Wanna get out of here?”

 

Chloe nodded furiously, taking Beca’s hand to lead her out. Maybe it wasn’t always bad to be a part of this.

* * *

 “Are you wearing elf ears?”

 

Beca grinned, ignoring the pinch of the cheap costume store accessories strapped onto her ears. Chloe had barely gotten through the door when she froze, without even taking off her coat, staring at Beca as if she was unsure whether or not to call for some sort of psychiatric help.

 

“Hey, Christmas only comes once a year, as you love to remind me.”

 

Chloe arched an eyebrow, hanging her coat on the hook by the door before slumping into the old chair that they definitely hadn’t stolen from the Bella house. “It’s December 12th,” she muttered, knees curled up under her chin.

 

Beca skipped forwards, dropping onto her knees to meet Chloe’s eye level. “I think we’re doing this backwards,” she said, nudging Chloe’s legs apart with her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be my tinsel-covered ray of sunshine while I complain about the over-saturation of fake peppermint flavors or something like that?”

 

“Don’t you dare say peppermint around me.” Chloe’s expression had crossed the level from pout to scowl, a deep line forming between her eyebrows as she picked at a thread on her scarf. “If one more housewife yells at me because her sugar-free, fat-free peppermint mocha tastes like the artificial nonsense it is, I’m going to lose it.”

 

Beca snorted, shifting her head from side to side so her extended ears brushed against Chloe’s knees. “C’mon,” she pleaded. “Can’t I get my Christmas Chlo?”

 

Chloe finally met her eyes with both eyebrows raised, but the hint of a grin threatening to spread across her face. “Are you sick? Do I need to call a doctor?” She looked around the darkened apartment. “Also, why are all of the lights off?” As she reached for the nearby switch, Beca swatted her hand away.

 

“Uh uh.” It was hard to ignore the pout that her girlfriend responded with, but Beca stood up, placing a kiss on her small forehead scar. “It’s a surprise.”

 

“Becs,” Chloe groaned. “I’m so exhausted; can we just order in dinner or something and open a bottle of wine so that I can try to forget for a bit that I’m a complete failure in every way?”

 

Beca picked up the remote by the stereo, fixing Chloe with a mock pout of her own as she turned around. “I’m wearing elf ears. Can’t you trust me for a few seconds?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that elf ears are your most trustworthy look.” Beca pressed a single finger to her own lips. “Fine, I’ll be quiet, even though you’re clearly having some sort of psychotic break.” She began to unwind her scarf, pausing as Beca hit the play button on the remote. “Is this that old song you did for Snoop’s Christmas album?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Beca picked up a string of tinsel from the TV table, sauntering slowly towards Chloe.

 

“Golly gee, what a treat,” Chloe droned.

 

And it was this trend that had been worrying Beca for the last few weeks. In all the years she’d known Chloe Beale, she’d never seen her so disheartened. Yeah, being an aspiring actress in LA wasn’t the easiest career path out there, and Beca couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty as her career seemed to be taking off while Chloe’s sputtered. But she figured that since Chloe had been there for her all those years, picking her up and supporting her and doing all she could to force the rare smile onto Beca’s face, the least she could do was attempt the same.

 

Conveniently, Christmas was Chloe’s favorite time of the year. Beca had extensive issues with a season that consisted of the same songs played endlessly on repeat, only broken up by particular masterpieces such as ‘Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey,’ some of the most cliché movies ever created, and sickeningly sweet flavors forced into places they should never have gone near. Chloe, on the other hand, had been known to break out her infamous Christmas playlist, rumored to have over 1500 songs on it, some time around September. The last two years in the Bella house, only through extensive lobbying, Beca had gotten her to delay its premiere until after Halloween.

 

But this Chloe had crossed some sort of invisible line, tripping into a cloud of misery after a few too many monologues interrupted in the middle and just that particular amount of over-caffeinated Hollywood agent assholes screaming at her for messing up their impossible orders while attempting to stare down her shirt. This Chloe slogged home at the end of the day, dropping onto their bed with a dramatic huff, able to be roused, and only on occasion, by extensive tickling.

 

Beca replaced her scarf with the tinsel strand, ignoring the indignant yelp as it scratched against Chloe’s neck and humming along with her own singing in the background. “You know, I’m still shocked they kept my voice on the final version,” she mused.

 

“You are known as quite the tastemaker now, so it shouldn’t be _too_ much of a surprise.” Beca tilted her head over her shoulder to stick out her tongue. “Is there a point to this or am I just wearing tinsel because you want to see exactly how annoyed I can get?”

 

Thankfully, it was at that moment that the music shifted into a mashup of ‘Shake It Off’ and ‘Deck the Halls.’ So maybe Beca had been forced to ask for an extension on the three songs she owed to the record label, but at this point, she had a fair amount of wiggle room with them. And it would be worth the upcoming late nights at the studio to unleash this Christmas mash-up extravaganza…or so she hoped.

 

“Doesn’t Taylor Swift already have a Christmas album?”

 

“Didn’t you ask me never to mention that around you?”

 

Chloe shrugged, again fighting back a smile as it crossed over into ‘Last Christmas’ and ‘I Really Like You.’ The frown managed to be kept intact as she swatted at Beca’s attempts to place a Santa hat on her head. “You are a Christmas psycho, you know that?” Beca captured her in a kiss long enough for Chloe’s hands to instinctively clasp around the back of her neck, taking the opportunity to fit the hat on her head before dancing back.

 

And it continued, into ‘Away in a Manger’ and ‘Halo,’ ‘Santa Baby’ and ‘Shut Up and Dance,’ a whole plethora of pop hits that Beca had groaned over for years with Christmas classics that she’d considered almost aurally offensive. But she’d heard them all blasting through Chloe’s cheap headphones time after time, and that was really all that mattered.

 

It closed with ‘Baby Please Come Home’ and ‘Tenerife Sea,’ and Chloe was no longer attempting to cover the expression on her face. As the sleigh bells she’d added to the end faded out, Beca stood in front of Chloe, hands behind her back.

 

“Beca, I—“ Chloe’s voice was choked and warm, and Beca leaned forward with one arm outstretched to flip the light switch behind the chair. The apartment lit up, hundreds of twinkling Christmas lights in mismatched colors and patterns draped from wall to wall, across the ceiling and touching just about every surface (the stereo was still, as always, off-limits).

 

Chloe’s eyes traveled around the room, over the stupid paper Santas and reindeer, the tiny plastic tree in the corner and its baby blue cursive Bella ornament, resting the longest on the light-trimmed corkboard covered in pictures of her and Beca. She looked back up, those bright blue eyes glimmering with the lights around her and a pool of tears, settling on the arm Beca had brought from behind her back, dangling a single sprig of mistletoe between them.

 

“So you’re more of the Christmas expert than I am,” Beca murmured, bending down until her forehead was planted on Chloe’s. “But I think this means we’re supposed to kiss. I could be wrong, but—“

 

Chloe pulled her downwards, the kiss a mix of burning passion and sweet teenage nerves that only Chloe could manage, mingling with salt from her tears and a slight hint of peppermint. When she broke the kiss, it was with an almost incredulous grin on her face. “You are a giant dweeb,” she said.

 

“I learned from the best.” Beca tucked a strand of Chloe’s hair behind her ear, threading her fingers into the mane as she cupped her face. “I love you, and I believe in you. And if any toolbag film guys give you any more shit, I will kick their ass. I will kick the lady agents’ asses too. I’m equal opportunity here.” Chloe giggled, her own hand gripping Beca’s shoulder. “But really. You are the most talented person I know, and you can get through anything. If you survived Aubrey Posen for four years, you can handle this.”

 

Chloe placed a chaste kiss on her lips, locking onto to Beca’s eyes with that trusting gaze. “I love you.” It was short and sweet and she’d heard it many times, but it never failed to amaze Beca that it came from the mouth of a girl like this. Chloe looked around in silence for another moment, her other hand absentmindedly running her thumb up and down Beca’s cheek. “So how long did it take you to do this?”

 

“Longer than I’d care to admit. Keeping my badass persona and all.”

 

“Babe, you lost that around the time that I caught you dancing to the Fairly OddParents theme.”

 

“It was one time!”

 

And Chloe laughed, Beca punched her lightly in the shoulder, and it all eventually devolved into a tickling match on the floor. It was Christmas, it was them, and they were happy. 

* * *

 

“Just give me a minute, I’m going to try the other side.”

 

“Chlo, I don’t think moving a few inches to your right is going to change anything.”

 

“I know what I’m doing, Beca. Trust me.”

 

Chloe placed the laptop on the other end of the gazebo bench, squinting at Beca’s lagging image on the screen. The brunette wore an expression of patient amusement, resting her chin on the back of her hand as Chloe waved the laptop in the air, seeking any sort of decent wifi connection.

 

“You know it’s not an antenna, right?”

 

Chloe sighed, fixing Beca with the best glare she could manage. “I think you find this a little too funny.”

 

“I really do.”

 

The wifi gods smiled upon her at that moment, picking up the strangely open connection from the retreat director’s house and finally bringing Beca into focus. With a sigh, Chloe plopped down in front of the laptop. “Hi.”

 

“Hi there,” Beca said with a laugh. “And how’s it going in Colorado?”

 

“Well, I just got out of rehearsals for The Sound of Music set on Mars, if that tells you anything.”

 

Beca peered into the camera. “I’m not seeing any green face paint.”

 

“Shocking, I know,” Chloe replied dramatically. “I honestly don’t know if the budget would cover that.”

 

“Their loss,” Beca said. “I think you’d look hot in green.”

 

Chloe adopted a horrified expression, placing her hand over her heart. “Ms. Mitchell, are you trying to seduce me?”

 

“Well, the wedding ring would say that I’d likely succeeded at some point in the past.” Beca leaned back, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. “Plus, not like I could do too much about it. So, really, how’s it going?”

 

“Do you remember that time when we had to invest in a giant pack of earplugs when we went camping with Amy and Bumper?” Beca nodded. “OK, combine that with the performance where Cynthia Rose got lit on fire and the presence of all of the sexually confused Treblemakers. Then you might have half an idea of what this is like.”

 

And so she spent the next half hour regaling Beca with tales of Hamlet on Ice (minus the ice), a gender-swapped production of Cruel Intentions, three different Frozen rock operas, and a silent version of The Dark Knight starring a fifty-year-old former plumber wearing jorts as Batman.

 

Beca spat out her coffee at the last one, resulting in a quick break as she ran to get napkins to clean off her laptop. Chloe absentmindedly stared out across the lake just as her roommate, an aged competitive cheerleader with the voice of Fran Drescher, rowed past in a canoe with Batman himself. She returned the enthusiastic wave as Beca sat back down.

 

The younger woman just stared at her in silence, eyes distant. “I miss you,” she said, hands clasped under her chin as she spun the wedding ring around her finger. “It’s too quiet here.”

 

“You’re not taking the opportunity to work without headphones?” Chloe couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her body as Beca smiled, slow and rare but always endlessly welcome. Beca looked tired, and Chloe realized she’d probably had to stay up late the past few nights to open up time in the middle of the workday to speak to her.

 

Beca shook her head. “It would feel off. Plus, so many people are listening to music with headphones nowadays that I need to get a proper understanding of the audial engineering from that perspective and—“

 

“Okay, okay,” Chloe said, fighting back a chuckle at the giant nerd she’d married. “So is everything going well over there?”

 

“Yeah, just busy. I’ve had to come up with an e-mail flagging system beyond ‘Important’ and ‘Fuck Off,’ so that’s been new.” Beca shrugged. “It still feels kinda surreal sometimes. Plus parties are weird without you there.”

 

“Hey, it’s you they’re there for. And I’m always there with you in spirit.” Beca gagged, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’m kidding. But really, you’re doing it, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

 

“So,” Beca said slowly. “Can’t you just come home and be proud with me?” The adorable half grin was combined with a batting of long eyelashes, forcing a laugh from Chloe.

 

“Babe, you know I would if I could. There’s just not much coming up lately.” Beca grimaced, dropping her eyes to the computer table below her before looking back up with what she likely thought was a hopeful expression. “Do you think you’ll be able to visit?”

 

Beca ran her fingers through her hair, nervously looking away as Chloe’s throat tightened. “I don’t know. They’ve kind of got me on a tight leash right now, but I’m trying, I really am.”

 

Chloe nodded, internally resigning herself to a summer of sexual frustration and awkward come-ons from the resort director’s nineteen-year-old daughter who’d just finished her first year at Mount Holyoke and seemed determined to prove it. Regardless, she figured she didn’t have to be the only one in this situation. “No way I can convince you?”

 

Beca’s eyebrow quirked. “What are you playing at, Beale?”

 

Heavily practiced innocent expression in full force, Chloe shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” she purred, undoing the top fastened button of her shirt as Beca’s eyes widened. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question.” She wiggled the left shoulder of her loose top off, revealing the edges of a lacy red bra that just perfectly accented her cleavage.

 

Beca’s jaw dropped, navy eyes darkening. “You are just… _fuck_ , Beale.” She groaned, leaning back against her chair and shutting her eyes.

 

“You’re kind of ruining the effect, you know.”

 

Beca scoffed, leaning back in. “And you’re kind of killing me here.” So yeah, maybe Beca could be a bit shameless with her ogling, but she’d married this idiot and it was precisely the result she’d wanted. With a quick shoulder wiggle and a wink, Chloe pulled the shirt back up, ignoring Beca’s cry of protest.

 

“Oh, one more important thing.” Another questioning eyebrow raise. “So one of the directors wanted me to ask if we could license some of your music for a rock opera and—“

 

“Okay, I’m hanging up.” Chloe laughed, planting a kiss on her laptop camera. “Love you, awesome nerd.”

* * *

Three nationals performances, one worlds title, somewhere around thirty interviews in the last year, and even meeting Adele, Calvin Harris, and Beyonce in the same night had not prepared her for this. The worst part was honestly having to hide the nerves. No, specifically, having to hide the nerves from Chloe. In all of the previous situations, she would pull her aside, flailing hopelessly and blathering on until Chloe would grab her by the shoulders, silencing her in the beginning with a palm over her mouth and later with a kiss. But it probably wasn’t too acceptable to settle your proposal-related nerves with your intended fiancée.

 

So Beca was sweating, cursing her past self for wearing a grey t-shirt that was doing its best to accent the sweat marks forming under her armpits. Granted, she was able to explain it away due to the fact that they’d been climbing this hill for what felt like years, Chloe leading the way with a punishing pace and a maddening expression of glee on her completely sweat-free face. Beca was starting to doubt that Chloe’s level of physical fitness even allowed her to perspire.

 

They were near the top, and Beca never thought she’d curse the end of a hike due to what came after. She’d been blessed with a ridiculously fast metabolism that allowed her to look almost average on the red carpet next to movie stars and pop queens, despite her activity routine consisting mostly of pacing around the studio, tapping her fingers aimlessly against her leg. But if anyone could get Beca to exercise, it was Chloe.

 

It did provide a sort of romantic story, she reasoned, even if she’d be praying that sweat didn’t drop onto the ring when she pulled it out. And the physical exhaustion would likely provide a bit of a numbing sensation if her worst fears were realized.

 

At least she could be confident in the ring, thanks to Aubrey. The two had gotten along significantly better after they no longer had to interact on a daily basis, and though Beca was still convinced that Aubrey expected her to break Chloe’s heart at any minute, she had been mostly supportive of their relationship. So Beca had reached out to the former Bella captain a couple months back, feeling that this was, if anything, the old ‘asking the dad for permission’ call.

 

She could almost hear Aubrey’s lip pursing over the phone, but she’d eventually seemed to think better of it, congratulating Beca and immediately plying her for details on her plans for the proposal, the wedding, and the ring. Beca had not really gotten beyond ‘I love Chloe Beale and I wouldn’t mind spending every minute of my life with her.’ This had led to Aubrey demanding to be intimately involved with the ring selection process, at the very least.

 

Beca had provided her with endless Snapchats as she shopped, resorting to just Facetiming in the jewelry store after Chloe had asked Beca why Aubrey was suddenly second in her Best Friends list. Two months of searching later, tears had been in Aubrey’s eyes as she’d assured Beca of her choice; the Aubrey who had vehemently demanded a call and pictures the second of the proposal confirmed that this was, in fact, Aubrey Posen, and not Stacie having stolen her girlfriend’s body.

 

Chloe finally stopped, climbing onto the top of a pile of rocks. As she closed her eyes and spread her arms, sun setting her hair aglow, any second thoughts Beca had had vanished.

 

“I’m the king of the world!” Chloe’s voice echoed from on top of the mountain as Beca leaned against her rock pile, wiping the sweat off her forehead and squeezing the side pocket of her backpack to make sure that the ring box was still there.

 

“Don’t you think enough idiots have done that at this point?”

 

Sticking out her tongue, Chloe leapt down, refusing the water bottle offered to her by Beca. “Yeah, because it’s a classic.” She flicked the only bead of sweat on her body off of her nose, snorting as Beca desperately chugged half of the Nalgene. “You doing all right there?”

 

Beca scowled. “I’m sorry that not all of us box six days a week and run seven.”

 

“You think it’s hot,” Chloe retorted, rolling her shoulders back. “Don’t lie. Besides, I’ve gotta keep it tight so the Oompa Loompa will let your girlfriend be in all those pictures the paparazzi keep taking.”

 

At the word ‘girlfriend,’ Beca spat a mouthful of water onto the rock next to them. Chloe’s concern turned to laughter as Beca managed a weak ‘I’m okay,’ gripping onto the ledge as she regained her breath. “Went down the wrong throat.”

 

“See, if you’d agreed to go running with me all of those times I’d asked before,” Chloe said, taking the water bottle from Beca’s hands. “We wouldn’t be having this many breathing issues. I think we need to get you checked for sports-induced asthma, though that’s an inhaler that would really never get used.”

 

It was Beca’s turn to stick out her tongue as Chloe finished the rest of the bottle. “It really is nice up here.” The LA skyline was distant and hazy, seemingly ebbing and swaying with the heat waves, the early summer trees in their brief verdant stage. Chloe, following Beca’s gaze, turned around, hands on her hips as she nodded.

 

Beca slowly unzipped the pocket of her bag, palming the box the instant it touched her fingers. Maybe it wasn’t the perfect moment, hair stuck in ringlets to her forehead and a line of sweat racing down her back, but she closed her eyes and dropped to one knee.

 

The gasp above her cued her to open them, looking up slowly at a Chloe Beale with tears already welling up, hands over her mouth. “Beca?” It was almost a squeak, but Beca was thankful for it as it covered her shuddering breath when she opened her mouth.

 

“So, um, yeah.” _Most romantic start to a proposal ever._ “I’m kind of an asshole.” Chloe made a sound that was somewhere between a giggle and a sob and slowly began to step forwards. “But you knew that and you seem to almost like that. I honestly don’t know why. But uh, I think you’re kind of making me better about it, and you kind of make me better in general.”

 

The tears were free flowing on Chloe’s face, her arms trembling as she gripped the bottom of her shorts with her hands. “Chlo, you’re the most important thing in my life. You changed my life, even if it required you barging into my shower naked—“ a slight laugh from Chloe “—and I’m at this point where I really can’t remember much before you. And that should scare me, because I don’t like needing people or things or…you’ve seen my battles with Siri.” Beca sighed, trying desperately to remember any portion of the speech she’d recited in the mirror every day for the last two weeks. “But it doesn’t scare me, because it’s you, and I could lose anything as long as I had you. You’re the reason that I’m able to do anything, and you’re the first note to every song I’ve made, and you’re the only thing I’d ever want to wake up to in the morning.”

 

She fumbled with the clasp of the box, because of course she hadn’t thought to open in before. Chloe’s eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen them as she stepped closer, hands clutched in front of her. When Beca finally managed to vanquish the clasp, Chloe’s arms dropped to her sides, a sob escaping her mouth. “So I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Think you could put up with that?”

 

Chloe met Beca’s eyes with fire in her own, lips trembling as they opened slowly. “You can’t do anything normally, can you?” She reached out her left hand, spreading her fingers as Beca’s heart rate hit an almost concerning level. “Yeah, I think I could.”

 

And badass Beca Mitchell slid the ring onto her fiancee’s finger, who in turn pulled her up by shoulders shaking with sobs into a kiss that put all their previous ones to shame. They stopped every few seconds just to stare at each other and giggle like idiots before the endless mutual lip staring pushed them back together again. Eventually, Chloe drew back, admiring her left hand with a dreamy gaze.

 

“So Aubrey helped you?”

 

“You knew?”

 

“Oh god no,” Chloe said. “She knows I totally would’ve cracked and told you before it ever happened. Probably wanted to give you time and a fighting chance to sack up. No, but we’ve discussed dream weddings enough times. You all nailed it.” She pecked Beca on the nose before frowning. “This does leave one question, though.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Who do I talk to about the Beca dream wedding? You know, for ring details?” Beca groaned, shaking her head as Chloe’s smile only widened. “I feel like you’re secretly one of those girls with a giant, terrifying wedding Pinterest board.”

 

“Are you trying to make me have second thoughts?” Her best pout could never have anywhere near the effect of Chloe’s, and the redhead responded with a swat to the shoulder.

 

“I think you’re kind of stuck with me at this point.” She stepped back, lacing the fingers of her newly weighted left hand through Beca’s right. “My money’s on Stacie.”

 

“Uh huh,” Beca muttered. “Oh yeah, speaking of Stacie, I promised Aubrey she’d be the first call.”

 

Chloe chuckled. “Well, duh. At least it’s convenient; you can tell Aubrey and I can interrogate Stacie in the same call.” She pulled her phone out of her own bag, placing a kiss on Beca’s lips before dialing. “You ready for this?”

 

Beca squeezed her hand, preparing herself for the combined onslaught of Stacie’s shrieking and her girlfriend’s rapid-fire requests for details. “I think we can handle it.”

* * *

 

“So what exactly is an ICCA?” It was spoken slowly and precisely, with that certain air of distaste that only a casting director accustomed to feeding on the dreams and souls of twenty-something aspiring actresses could manage. But Chloe could not drop the smile, the well-practiced mask developed perfectly after the twentieth time she’d had to explain the most substantial portion of her resume.

 

So she smoothed her dress and secured that smile that managed not to spread her eyes too much, because laugh lines were essentially a death sentence when you were competing with twenty-year-olds. “It’s a collegiate singing competition,” she replied, bright and cheery with just a hint of nervous shrill. “It allowed me to gain experience in dancing, choreography, composition and arrangement, presentation—“

 

“—That’s great, honey.” Of course, the rest of Chloe’s resume was largely a function of one wine drunk night where she’d complained to Beca that the size 14 font didn’t seem to be hiding her complete lack of non-Bella experience anymore. After they’d managed to cut out Beca’s recommendations of ‘long-term hyperactive blonde wrangler’ and other less appropriate statements, Chloe Beale, the responsible, studious yet creative, well-read and well-traveled adult was born…at least on paper. But Chloe was rarely asked to elaborate on her internship as an assistant at a prestigious production company in New York (with Jesse’s phone number attached) or her time teaching English in France (hence the late graduation). On one hand, this was positive, because Chloe’s French consisted mostly of poorly pronounced types of wine and cooking terms. On the other hand, it was because she’d essentially been rejected almost every time before she stepped onto the stage.

 

It was a Friday afternoon, and clearly all three casting directors were just as ready for the week to be done as Chloe was. However, they were allowed to show it and did, one gazing on with half-lidded eyes, another gracelessly admiring Chloe’s cleavage, and the last not even bothering to look up.

 

The audition in question was for a movie musical, thanks to a recent renaissance in the genre’s popularity. Beca had found the listing, promising to ply Chloe with ‘more Thai food than she could handle’ if she went. Chloe gave in when a bottle of wine was added to the deal, sweetened with a pair of orgasms that she really didn’t need to be thinking about right now.

 

So she handed her slightly crumpled music to the pianist, accepting a strangely sympathetic grin as she desperately attempted to fix her hair after enduring two hours in a humid hallway that had to be purposefully heated as some sort of sick stress test. Two deep breaths later, she shot the pianist a quick nod, which he responded to by beginning the intro in a deathly slow tempo that left Chloe wondering precisely how and when she would breathe.

 

And of course she came in half a bar late, cursing herself for only practicing in one tempo, not anticipating that most of these accompanists sucked. She’d heard about fifteen different tempos and some truly fascinating rhythmic interpretations in all the auditions she’d done with this tired old song, and it really, truly did not help at all that the accompanist seemed to sense her discomfort and immediately jumped into a double time.

 

Chloe’s body went into autopilot, and her mind started wandering over what Beca had ordered her for dinner (it was about a 50/50 shot on whether or not Beca would remember her mushroom allergy), why Aubrey was suddenly so high in Beca’s Snapchat Best Friends list, and why she’d never realized that this shirt was just so incredibly see-through. Yeah, it brought out the color of her eyes, but if she’d wanted to show off that much, she could’ve just dropped into one of the fifty adult film postings she saw on Craiglist every week.

 

Right as she was about to jump a couple octaves to prove that her range had not completely diminished in her post-Bella years, she was interrupted by an uncomfortable cough. “Thank you, that’s enough.” It was from the casting director who hadn’t (and still didn’t) looked up, turning to the others with a raised eyebrow and whispering something to the middle judge, who let out a cackle barely disguised as a sneeze. Chloe bit her lip, gave the accompanist the best smile she could manage while fighting back tears, and performed some weird sort of curtsy before fleeing out the side door.

 

She tore off the stupid paper bib from her top (really the only non see-through material on her torso) and barely avoiding smacking her shoulder into a weeping girl standing next to the trashcan. Chloe at least had the dignity to get out into the street before allowing the first sob to fall, a combination of suppressed rage and hopelessness.

 

Her phone buzzed in her bag, and Chloe pulled it out to see three Snapchats from ‘DJBigBM,’ as Amy had renamed Beca’s Snapchat profile one drunken night; Chloe wasn’t sure whether Beca hadn’t changed it because she didn’t really care, didn’t know how, or some sense of nostalgia. ‘Good’ and ‘Luck’ were sent in two different Snaps with particularly goofy pictures of Beca in the studio, and the third included a poorly drawn ladybug sitting on Beca’s nose. She sniffled, wiping her eyes before dialing Beca’s number.

 

“So? Did you knock them out of the park with that ridiculous, nodes-free voice of yours?” It was hopeful and warm, that voice that Beca saved only for Chloe, free of any sarcasm or edge.

 

“Didn’t even get to the jump,” Chloe said with a sigh, leaning back against the brick wall of the building behind her. “Some guy cut me off. Hadn’t even looked up once.”

 

“Well that’s obvious.” Beca paused to respond to a question in the background, something including three names off the Top 10 Artists list for the week. “Sorry ‘bout that. If he’d looked at you for a second, you’d have the role.”

 

“When did you become such a sap?”

 

“Learned from the best,” Beca replied, chuckling. “I’m sorry, babe. Casting directors are complete morons. Look, I could have Mike make a call or something…”

 

“Beca.” It was the third time they’d had this conversation, and while Chloe knew that making it in this industry was largely about who you knew, she wasn’t yet at that point of desperation where she’d be willing to let her oh so up-and-coming girlfriend be the reason she succeeded.

 

“I know.” Chloe watched as a girl ran out of the stage door next to her, shrieking into her phone about being a failure at age 23. “Well, at least I can still do my part in the Beale Cheering Squad and get you Thai Food. Already ordered, so I’ll pick it up on the way home. _And_ I remembered your peanut allergy.”

 

Chloe rolled her eyes, opening her mouth as Beca let out a truly dorky giggle in the background. “I’m kidding. No mushrooms. I even picked us up a bottle of wine that a sommelierrecommended.”

 

“You have a sommelier now?”

 

“I know a guy. But, really Chlo. I love you and I believe in you and we’re gonna do this together and we’re gonna be fine.” Chloe couldn’t help the smile tugging at her cheeks. “I’ll be home soon.”

 

“Love you.” She hung up the phone, smoothed her skirt, and dialed Aubrey’s number as she began the walk home.

* * *

 

Beca had done what felt like thousands of these interviews at this point, but the ring on her finger seemed to be increasing the frequency of late. And so she was at a party celebrating her fifth #1 song or something like that; it was all kind of blending together nowadays. She was swirling a whiskey on the rocks expertly in her left hand, a move that had taken a lot of practice and spilled expensive alcohol to master, listening to the pimple-faced Rolling Stone reporter in front of her who was taking any opportunity he could to stare down her blazer.

 

She downed the rest of the glass with a sigh, eyes flitting over to Chloe on a couch in the corner, talking to a trio of women who were just oozing distaste and judgment at her wife’s unabashed grin. And as she turned back to ask the kid to repeat the question she’d managed to tune out, she caught sight of a blonde in a low-plunging, skin-tight dress shooting her one of the dirtiest winks she’d ever seen.

 

Beca swallowed, running her fingers through her hair and allowing a casual smile to play across her lips before turning back to the distinctly less attractive figure in front of her. “Sorry, what was that?”

 

The reporter was apparently not as clueless as he seemed, responding with a conspiratorial grin and a sidelong glance at the leggy blonde. “Married life, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” It was out before she could stop it, and certainly too low and wistful for the situation. Relying on her distant and mysterious press persona, Beca turned from the table, leaving the kid without a further comment or context.

 

Accepting another drink, she leaned against the hard wood of the bar, taking a sip as she glimpsed the blonde with the absurdly toned ass decidedly closer than she’d previously been. A hand landed on her arm, startling her from continuing her eyes’ journey upwards.

 

“Enjoying yourself, Mitchell?” Mike’s smirk was practiced and far too knowing for Beca’s liking as he signaled the bartender for another round for both of them. Beca fixed him with her best glare, to which he only responded with a chuckle. “Oh c’mon, that broody shit never worked on me after I saw your a capella trophies.”

 

“Hey, which one of us is married to one of the hottest women in this room because of those a capella trophies?” Beca accepted the second drink with a nod to the bartender.

 

“One of the?”

 

She rolled her eyes, finishing the first whisky far too quickly, rewarded with a burning sensation from her eyes to her stomach. “There’s just something weird about getting married.” Mike quirked an eyebrow. “It’s like suddenly you’re a magnet for everyone in the room.”

 

“I could also attribute that to getting famous, you know…”

 

“Yeah, but this is different.” Beca turned, placing her back to the bar as Mike followed her example. “Look at this room. We’re in Los Angeles, probably one of the more attractive cities in the world. We’re surrounded by models, actresses, pop stars; even the agents are hot.” She reached into her pocket. “I’ve had four people give me their business cards tonight without even mentioning what they do.”

 

“You’re hot shit, Mitchell,” Mike replied, popping an olive from his drink into his mouth. “It’s gonna happen.”

 

“Okay, but every single person I’ve talked to has been someone I find attractive.” It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “I used to get hit on at these things by corporate dudes with early receding hairlines, wannabe models who were just going to end up going into the stock photo business, those sort of people. I’m pretty sure one of these girls is in line to be a Victoria’s Secret Angel.”

 

“You live a hard life.”

 

Beca huffed, sipping her drink as the absurdly attractive blonde finally made her move, tanned legs gliding in sky-high heels as if that was what she’d learned to walk in. “Okay, watch this,” Beca muttered.

 

The girl played the game perfectly; bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she coquettishly kept her eyes on the ground, slightly leaning forwards to both accentuate her truly astounding cleavage and to let those long lashes cover her eyes. As she drew close, she slowly looked up, emerald eyes half-hooded and professionally made up, a grin that spelled nothing but trouble spreading as color drew to Beca’s face. Mike subtly stepped aside to create space as she reached out, hand lightly stroking down Beca’s thankfully covered forearm.

 

“Hi.” Her voice was low and husky, soft enough so only Beca and those around her listening particularly closely could hear. “I’m Kara.”

 

Beca shot Mike a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Hi Kara,” she said, smoothing her hair back with her left hand, fingers purposefully spread to draw attention to her ring finger. “I’m Beca.”

 

And it was doing nothing. If anything, Kara leaned in closer, the smell of her perfume heady and sweet, and before she knew it, Beca heard herself ordering a drink for the girl from the bartender. “So I really loved the album,” Kara murmured, twirling a piece of her impeccably curled hair between long, slender fingers that took Beca’s mind to places she didn’t even dare to consider. “You’ve really been making such a difference in the music industry. I listen to it. All the time.” The last three words were drawn out, an uncomfortable echo to a comment regarding “lady jams” in a dorm shower years back.

 

“Uh huh?” It was all Beca could manage before she sipped her own drink as Mike attempted to choke back laughter to her left.

 

“Yeah.” Kara’s drink-free hand landed on Beca’s right shoulder, thumb slowly inching towards her neck as Beca sincerely rethought her stylish yet risky decision to wear this shirt-free suit ensemble that relied heavily on sticky tape to prevent a wardrobe malfunction, a material that was not particularly fond of the sweat she could feel rising on her body. “It’s just such a unique mixing of themes, coming together and apart, over and—“

 

“Hi!” Mike’s elbow dug squarely into Beca’s side as Kara jumped back, revealing a strangely smiling Chloe behind her. “Who’s this?”

 

“Chlo, hey.” Beca draped her arm over her wife, ring hand landing on her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “This is Kara. She’s a fan of the album.”

 

“Mmhmm.” It was slow and combined with a quick glance from Beca’s flushed face to the other woman’s plunging neckline.

 

“You must be Chloe.” Kara offered her hand with a look that Beca had only ever seen on Animal Planet on the face of gazelles being chased across the plains by a lion. “I’m actually starting at the label next week.”

 

Beca looked over at Mike, who very calmly nodded in confirmation as he stepped to Kara’s side. _Oh Mike, you giant ass._ “Yup,” he said, shooting that oh-so-cool publicist grin at Chloe. “Interviewed her myself.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Chloe replied cautiously. “Well, I’m glad to see someone is looking out for my wife’s _interests._ ”

 

“She’s a hot commodity. You got yourself a good one. Both of you did.”

 

Beca forced a toothy smile at the man, eyes as far from Kara and her chest as she could manage. “I think she got the worse end of the deal,” she joked.

 

Chloe’s eyes hadn’t left the blonde’s the whole time, and she laughed mirthlessly before turning to face Beca. “Are you gonna be ready to go soon?”

 

“She’s all yours,” Mike said. “Take good care of her.”

 

Chloe met his eyes with a fair degree of incredulity. “I always do. Becs, I’m just going to grab my purse.” She placed a kiss on Beca’s cheek before leaving the group.

 

Kara, wide-eyed and flustered, gave Beca a not completely apologetic half-grin before heading off in the opposite direction. Beca punched Mike in the arm, ignoring his complaints regarding martinis and expensive suits.

 

“You are such a dick,” she hissed.

 

He stepped back from her admittedly small range and smirked. “You did admirably prove your point, though.”

 

Before Beca could attempt to inflict further damage, Chloe appeared at her side. “You ready?”

 

Beca wordlessly linked arms with a scowl at her publicist before leading the way out of the building. “So do you want to tell me why you were kicking the shit out of Mike? Not that I’m complaining.”

 

“Album disputes and publicity stuff,” Beca replied, running her hand softly up and down Chloe’s arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

“Chloe, I am not letting you pay for my coffee!” Aubrey pushed at Chloe’s arm as the redhead leaned in front of her friend, a $20 bill clutched between her fingers an inch from the face of a clearly uncomfortable cashier. After a moment of silent pleading with her eyes, the cashier sighed and took the cash, handing her a few small bills in change as Aubrey picked up two of the three drinks and led the way to the table where Stacie waited, peering closely at her hand.

 

Chloe took the remaining empty seat across from the blonde, her own cup in hand. “You’re my guest. My parents raised me right.”

 

“Southerners,” Aubrey muttered before turning to face Stacie. “Something wrong?”

 

Stacie looked up, the frown breaking as she shook her head. “Nope.” She took Aubrey’s hand, lightly running her thumb along the other girl’s hand. “Just making sure I didn’t have a hangnail.”

 

Chloe snorted. “Don’t you think this is all a little ironic after all your years of cuticle car—OW!” Aubrey had kicked her particularly viciously under the table. “I’m just saying, it’s not practical.”

 

While Aubrey’s glare was beginning to rival those once reserved for the Treblemakers, Stacie had burst out laughing. “Beca’s really starting to rub off on you, isn’t she?”

 

“She may or may not have asked me to say that exact line.” Chloe took a sip of her coffee, nose wrinkling at the distinct lack of cinnamon.

 

“And where is number eight on US Weekly’s Up-and-Coming Artists list?” Aubrey’s tone was dry and clipped as she passed the spice shaker across the table.

 

“Bree,” Stacie warned, nudging her girlfriend with her elbow.

 

Unfortunately, Chloe didn’t really have a great response. Stacie and Aubrey were in town to visit for three days, and Beca had already missed dinner the first night for a recording session with some new artist that she had deemed ‘Lana Del Rey and Ellie Goulding’s audial love child.’ It had been fun regardless, and Chloe had finally heard the whole story of how Stacie and Aubrey, after discovering they were at the same med school, had gotten locked in a supply cupboard and ended up being released a couple hours later wearing each other’s shirts and with their hair distinctly less ordered. They’d been together ever since.

 

So Chloe had scheduled this coffee date at a time that Beca assured her, again and again, she could make. But she couldn’t really begrudge Beca too much when she’d been offered a chance to meet with Bastille about their next VS. album. The apologetic smile she’d received over Snapchat and the especially risqué text regarding plans for that night might have helped as well.

 

“She’s got some big meeting,” Chloe replied, avoiding Aubrey’s judgmental gaze. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

 

“You know someone’s making it when their life suddenly becomes a protected secret,” Stacie joked. “But that’s awesome, Chlo. How are things going for you?”

 

It was a completely innocent question, but that didn’t stop Chloe’s throat from tightening as she gulped down another sip of her iced coffee. “Y’know. It’s a tough industry to break into.”

 

Aubrey’s hand landed on her arm with a light squeeze, Chloe looking up to meet soft eyes and a sad smile that she’d received many times, although mostly in situations more akin to ‘I’m drunk and crying over how Beca Mitchell will never love me.’ “Hey, if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

 

“Thanks, Bree.” They all sipped their drinks in silence for a bit, Aubrey and Stacie shooting each other lovesick puppy dog looks that Chloe had honestly never expected to see on either of their faces. She could have just changed the subject at that point, asked about life in Baltimore and for med school stories or anything, but it was Aubrey, and she’d missed having her most valued confidante in person. “It’s just…I don’t know.”

 

Aubrey looked up, a concerned furrow forming between her eyebrows. “It’s just weird,” Chloe continued. “We go to all these parties and everything now, and there’s interviews and stuff, and I’m feeling like I’m Beca’s publicist or her backup or something. And every question is the same: ‘what’s it feel like to be around Beca Mitchell every day? What’s it feel like to be with the genius?’ And it’s starting to be more me struggling to keep up behind her than walking next to her.” She dropped her head in between her hands. “I’m probably being dramatic.”

 

“Nah.” It was Stacie who replied, chewing the inside of her cheek. “You’ve always been ambitious; I mean, hell, you basically dragged us all kicking and screaming to worlds while Beca was off having a quarter-life crisis.” Chloe couldn’t help but giggle. “I could see how it sucks to be treated like you’re just the supportive girlfriend at home in the suburbs with the dog and the white picket fence and shit.”

 

“Maybe I should’ve just stuck with the exotic dancer career path.”

 

“I am not letting you think like that.” Aubrey swatted her lightly on the shoulder. “You are Chloe Beale, Bella commander, and just as badass as Beca Mitchell. You just don’t need all the brooding pretension.” At Stacie’s chiding groan, she turned to face the brunette. “You know it’s true. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile once in a picture.”

 

Chloe fiddled with her straw as the two launched into a debate about media presence and unfair expectations placed upon women in the public eye. So maybe they’d all been a little shocked when they discovered Stacie was graduating _summa cum laude_ with degrees in biomedical engineering and gender studies, but it certainly made her a perfect match for Aubrey.

 

While Stacie and Aubrey bickered, Chloe pulled out her phone, finding a text from Beca with three simple words: “I got it.” She didn’t realize her squeak of excitement was audible until she looked up to find the couple across the table staring at her. “Oh sorry. Beca got the production deal!”

 

“So now can we brush aside the air of mystery?”

 

Sucking the last bit of her drink from the plastic cup, Chloe shook her head. “Nope. But she’s promised to make it in time for dinner tonight, so you can ask her yourself there.” She squinted at her watch for a moment. “So who’s up for a museum?” 

* * *

 

“It’s just one party, Chlo, c’mon.” Beca’s voice mixed pleading and exhaustion with a hint of desperation. She was late; she was so damn late and she already had three missed calls from Kara, who Mike had unfortunately realized was vastly more successful at getting her to show up than he was.

 

“That’s exactly my point!” Chloe flailed the empty ends of her oversized sweatshirt as she paced back and forth, hair piled on her head with her makeup half done. “It’s just another party, Beca. We’ve been to so many and we don’t do anything else. Ever.”

 

Beca’s phone vibrated in her hand, the dangerous look in Chloe’s eyes prompting her to drop it on the mantle behind her. “Chloe, it’s my label. There are people there I need to talk to, this is how it works.” Chloe rolled her eyes, dropping down onto the couch with a huff. “Okay, fine. So you’re not gonna go. That’s great. But I need to.”

 

“Really, Beca?” There was no hint of disbelief in there, and it was that air of defeat that stopped her in her tracks.

 

She turned slowly, both of their eyes flitting towards her ceaselessly vibrating phone. “Okay, Chlo. Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” Chloe stared directly forwards out the window, arms clutched around her knees. “Is this because I forgot to text you good luck yesterday?”

 

“Oh fuck off, Beca,” Chloe spat. “Don’t try to act like I’m some petty teenager who gets mad because of something like that.”

 

“Then can you stop blaming me because you’re unhappy with your life?!”

 

And there it was. Yeah, they’d said it hundreds of other times, just hidden in glances and arguments about dishes or cooking dinner or something else to cover up the reason why Beca couldn’t mention anything about work without starting a fight. Chloe looked like she’d been slapped, retreating further into the back of the couch as Beca stepped forwards.

 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t want to be going back to Colorado.” Chloe sniffed, slowly shaking her head. “Just—just talk to me, please.” As the phone started its buzzing again, Beca grabbed it from the mantel, turning it to silent before dropping it on the table. “You know I believe in you. I believe in you and that’s what’s made us work, what’s made us strong. You’re ambitious and you’re smart and you’ll get through this and if I didn’t think that was the woman I married, I wouldn’t be here.”

 

She pulled the nearby chair close, taking a seat and leaning forwards with her elbows on her knees. “I know it’s hard. But if you just hang on, if you just go in with thick skin and listen to me, I know—“ Chloe scoffed, sitting up to fix Beca with a blazing glare, silent and still.

 

“What?”

 

“Listen to you? Right, because you know exactly what I’m thinking because you’ve been through it, because you listen so damn well.” Chloe’s hands gripped the edge of the couch, arms trembling as her eyes dared Beca to respond.

 

“You think I want you to be miserable?” Beca stood up, pacing in front of the table between them as her thoughts raced. “I’m sorry that I’ve succeeded and I’m sorry that people want to talk to me and hear what I have to say, but I’m only doing what I planned to do. Didn’t you tell me all of those times that you’d _always_ be there for me and it was all going to be perfect and you’d always support me?”

 

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing, Beca? Sitting at those parties, watching you flirt with everyone in the room who looks your way, getting drunk and making jokes about your loser wife who can’t even land a side role in an Off Broadway production.” Chloe was standing too, the table a godsend of a protective wall from the sort of rage Beca had never experienced. “And I’m trying, I really am, and you’re just not—“

 

“I’m not going to tear myself down just to lift you up!” It bounced around the walls, hanging between them until it dissipated as Chloe let out a gasping sob and dropped to the couch. And Beca knew she’d gone too far. She slowly crossed the room, tentatively laying a hand on Chloe’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” Beca sighed. “I just—I know what you can do. I believe in that, and I may have forgotten half of what I planned to say in my vows, but I know I said that we’d be there for each other, that you were the most important thing in my life, and that we could never fail as long as we were together.” Chloe looked up, eyes wide and worn. “If I didn’t believe in you, I wouldn’t have loved you. And I love you.” Beca kissed her wife’s forehead gently, picking up her phone to see another eight missed calls.

 

“Can you just—can you put on the dress, please? It’d really look weird for me to be there alone and you know how the press gets and I—“ Chloe shoved her hand off her shoulder, surging up before shooting her a pained, lost, hopeless gaze and making for the door. “Chloe? Chlo!” And she was gone.

* * *

 

Chloe couldn’t help but be amused by Beca’s ridiculous yelp as she pulled her headphones off of her ears. “Was that really necessary?”

 

“We’re landing,” Chloe said, leaning across Beca to point out the window at the rapidly approaching tarmac below them.

 

“I’m aware.” Beca shifted uncomfortably in her seat, leaning back and closing her eyes.

 

“Beca Mitchell, are you scared of flying?”

 

“No,” she retorted, turning to face Chloe. “I’m scared of crashing.”

 

Chloe leaned over, planting a sloppy kiss on the corner of her girlfriend’s mouth before pulling back with a grin. “At least we shall die together,” she intoned dramatically.

 

Beca’s fears were not realized as they touched down with only a few bumps that caused Beca to grip the armrests with enough force that Chloe was surprised she did not see marks. They exited the plane with surprising speed, due largely to Beca’s ability to stop human hearts with a single glare.

 

As they waited in the baggage claim, Carrie Underwood’s voice over the speakers welcoming them to Nashville, Beca’s hand tightened around Chloe’s. Her eyes were stuck to the ground, chewing on her bottom lip furtively.

 

Chloe placed her free hand under Beca’s chin to tip her face up. “Hey,” she murmured. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s convincing.”

 

“Chlo, I just—I’m worried about your parents. Like what they’re gonna think about us.”

 

Chloe released her hand, turning to face the brunette with her hands on her hips. “Okay, first of all, I’ve been out to my parents as bi since I was 14. They’re totally cool with it. Secondly, you should’ve _heard_ some of the stuff my mom got up to in her sorority at Vanderbilt.”

 

Beca’s brow furrowed at that second statement. “Ew. Did not need to know that.”

 

“Do you want to tell me what’s actually bothering you?” Beca frowned, picking at her nails. “Becs, they’re gonna love you.” Chloe seized both of her hands. “Really. I love you, and they’ll love you.”

 

She leaned forward to place a kiss on the top of Beca’s head, only to be startled a moment later by a high-pitched “Hey y’all!” behind them.

 

The drive to Brentwood was spent with Chloe alternating between regaling her mother with audition tales, doing her best to suppress the Southern accent that sometimes came out around her family and that she knew Beca would give her endless grief for, and turning to meet Beca’s eyes with the most comforting tacit glances she could manage, accompanied with a quick squeeze of their intertwined hands. Chloe’s father attempted to engage Beca in conversation in the breaks between Chloe and her mother’s yammering.

 

They pulled up to the old plantation house, the front lawn clearly freshly mowed and the front porch swing waving in the slight breeze. The girls were ushered into the house, Chloe’s dad refusing Beca’s offer to help with the bags, and handed glasses of sweet tea that Beca managed to finish despite pained looks in Chloe’s direction every time her mother’s back was turned. After an hour and a half covering everything that had happened to them over the last year, they were released outside.

 

Chloe dragged Beca around the house to the expansive back yard, eventually dropping to the ground with her back to an old willow tree. Beca stood above her, eyes slowly surveying the landscape. “So, you’ve been holding out on me,” she quipped, kicking Chloe lightly in the shin.

 

“Please. My parents moved from Franklin when the housing market crashed and this place was dirt cheap.” She patted the spot next to her, Beca settling down in her customary cross-legged position before slipping an arm around Chloe’s waist. “I’ve only been here a couple times.”

 

“One would think that after seven years in college, you would’ve had a few free breaks,” Beca responded.

 

Chloe dug her hip into Beca’s leg. “I was a bit busy, captaining a team to stardom.”

 

“ _Co_ -captaining.” Chloe stuck out her tongue. “So I’m not gonna be dragged to meet all your childhood friends then?”

 

“Well, Franklin’s really nearby actually,” Chloe said, unable to contain her giggle at Beca’s horrified expression. “But no, I didn’t really stay in touch. A lot of them did the marry the high school sweetheart and go to the same college thing. Wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

 

“No high school sweetheart?”

 

“Oh, Becs.” She quickly pecked Beca’s forehead before adopting a mock contemplative expression and counting on her fingers.

 

“Sweethearts?” Beca’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Babe, I was the prom queen.” Beca snorted, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, I kind of always was looking for something more. I talked to some of them on the phone briefly freshman year, sent wedding gifts and all that, but we were in different worlds.” She sighed. “I know everyone thought I was all unfocused and all over the place, taking seven years to graduate and everything, but I sort of always knew I wanted to be performing. It’s why I joined the Bellas.”

 

Beca was silent for a moment, following Chloe’s eyes across the yard to a pair of cows majestically galloping until they came to the edge of the fence, looked at each other, and lay down on the grass with what seemed like a very indignant moo. Chloe felt Beca’s lips on her cheek, turning to face her as she pulled back. Her eyes were deep and focused, locked onto Chloe’s own with an expression she’d only seen in the months since they’d started dating. “I never thought you were unfocused.”

 

The tears were there before Chloe could stop them, and she captured Beca’s lips in a kiss, pulling back when she felt the salt on her own. Beca licked her lips, smiling like Chloe was the only thing she ever wanted to taste on them. “You know I love you, right?” It wouldn’t strike Chloe until later that this was the first time Beca had said it, but she leaned closer, Beca resting her head against her shoulder in that perfect way their bodies had always fit together.

 

“I don’t want you to worry about anything,” Chloe murmured, her lips brushing against Beca’s hair. “We’re both going to make it, I know it. We’re going to do it together.” Beca nodded below her. “Just stay with me. We can do this.”

 

Beca shifted her body from underneath Chloe, moving until she sat on her heels in front of her. She stayed there for a moment, just looking the other girl up and down. As Chloe opened her mouth, Beca straddled her hips, lacing her fingers through her hair and pulling her into a fervent kiss.

 

And maybe it was a bit awkward to be startled out of this with Chloe’s hand up the front of Beca’s shirt as her father reminded them to ‘use protection because he wasn’t ready to be a grandfather’ before her mother called them in for dinner. But Chloe couldn’t help but feel that anything in the world was worth it to have all Beca, all the time.

* * *

 

Beca woke to a sheet of light hair over her face and the sun streaming through lowered blinds behind her. She pushed herself onto her elbows as the figure next to her stirred. Taking a deep breath and turning to face her, a smile played across Beca’s face as she ran her fingers through her hair.

 

“Sorry if I woke you.” Beca leaned down, placing a light kiss on her forehead. “I have to get going. Chloe’s waiting for me in Colorado.”

 

Kara’s face contorted, biting her lip as she met Beca’s eyes. “Are you—“

 

“No one has to know. It’d be better not to hurt anyone.”

 

The blonde nodded, spreading her fingers through the satin sheets that covered them. “Do you really have to go?”

 

Beca was up and out of bed, pulling on Chloe’s oversized sweatshirt with a twinge of something…not regret, more finality. “Yeah,” she said. “But you know I’d rather stay.”

 

Kara sat up, not even bothering to cover her chest as she regarded Beca with that sultry stare she somehow maintained at all times. “I don’t get it. She doesn’t appreciate you, Beca.”

 

Beca was silent, pulling on a pair of jeans before grabbing a t-shirt and blazer from her closet. After she’d changed, she leaned against the wall, regarding the girl in her bed with a thoughtful gaze. “I think it’s more that she’s frustrated that she can’t be more than a part of it. Or isn’t willing to be.” She began to throw things carelessly into a suitcase. “She’s always kind of barged her way into my life, literally sometimes, if we’re being honest. And she wants to be the only thing that I ever think about or care about and she doesn’t get that I need my own space. That I don’t always need someone there—I don’t know, she certainly acts like she’s putting up with me. And she just wants to put all of her failings on me. I can’t fix her problems.”

 

Beca zipped the suitcase closed, standing in front of the mirror to get any sort of volume beyond ‘sex’ in her hair. “I know we both know it’s done.” She searched her own face in the mirror, daring any sort of disagreeing bone in her body to step up. “This isn’t going to be fixed with a compromise or a fight. We’re both hurting and I can’t rescue her. I loved her as much as I could, and I guess it wasn’t enough. I just wasn’t enough.”

 

When she turned back, Kara was standing behind her, clad in Chloe’s old sweatshirt. Beca ran her hand down the arm, stepping back with a smirk. “Looks better on you,” she said.

 

Kara bent to locate her phone, on the floor underneath her dress from the night before. “Your flight is in an hour,” she said, scrolling through the screen. “Did you book something back already?”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow night. Should be back in time for the gala.” Beca scoffed at the blonde’s pout. “Did you have other plans?”

 

“I was hoping we might have some time beforehand,” she said, leaning down to suck on Beca’s jawline.

 

“Ooph, okay.” Beca pushed her back lightly. “No matter what I’d like to do, showing up with a hickey to see Chloe probably isn’t the best move. Are there any flights tonight?”

 

Kara smirked, pressing a few buttons on her screen. “You’re booked.” A passionate kiss later, she was pulling on a pair of shorts that Beca offered her.

 

 “I’ll see you tonight.” Beca left the apartment, shutting the door behind her and pausing to look back, only to see Kara lean forward and drop the neckline of the sweatshirt with a wink. And Beca knew she could live with something like this. 

* * *

“You are going to be so late!” Chloe pushed Beca off of her, the smaller girl landing surprisingly heavily on the floor with a squeak. “I’m not going to be responsible for you missing an interview.”

 

Beca sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up. “Y’know, I’d think after apparently four years of waiting for this, you wouldn’t be rushing me out of the door. The door to my own apartment…”

 

“Well, you _did_ give me the other copy of your key when you first got it,” Chloe said, appreciating the view as Beca leaned forwards to pull her hair into a ponytail. She crawled on her knees as she searched for her own discarded clothes from the night before, already anticipating the judgmental glare from her elderly next door neighbor when she’d return. But she could not care less as she rounded the corner of the counter, only to meet Beca’s face.

 

“Hey.” Beca’s mouth was on hers again, needy and warm and passionate, tending the fire that had been building for four years and had finally been sparked the night before. Beca’s phone beeped next to them, its owner letting out a groan as she pulled back to stop the alarm. “I really don’t understand why we need these things.”

 

“Are you saying that you don’t want me to send you suggestive Snapchats all day?” Chloe pulled her tanktop over her head and massaged a kink out of her neck, her thumbs running over sensitive marks that would surely be fun to explain at her audition the next day.

 

Beca shook her head vigorously. “No ma’am,” she said. “Phones are awesome and should be used by all. Particularly ridiculously flexible redheads.”

 

Chloe laughed, pushing Beca backwards again as she leaned in. “Uh uh.” With a huff and a pout, Beca climbed over a short stack of boxes into her bedroom. “So what’s this interview for?”

 

“Just part time at some radio station.” Chloe found her shorts underneath the box that had almost crushed Beca the night before, unable to hold in an embarrassing giggle as she pulled them on.

 

Four years. Four years of nights spent crying over Beca Mitchell, praying and hoping and overanalyzing every shared, furtive glance. She’d almost given up when Beca had broken up with Jesse in junior year and hadn’t immediately mounted her in the Bella living room, but Chloe was in this for the long haul. No matter how amazing the sex had been the night before, and _holy shit_ , Chloe had been Beca’s, heart and soul, long before that.

 

Honestly, she’d been amazed when she’d heard herself turn to Beca as they were unloading their shared van in front of Beca’s apartment, suggesting that they get dinner and openly affirming a minute later that yes, she did mean this as a date. And she’d been shocked when Beca’s eyes had lit up, an uncharacteristic, full-faced grin spreading across her mouth.

 

Beca stumbled out of her room, yelping as she tripped over the boxes and barely caught herself on the edge of the table. Chloe turned to face her, hands on her hips. “Graceful.”

 

“You know me,” Beca said, fixing her hair from her reflection in the microwave. She stepped back. “How do I look?”

 

In a cheap blazer and jeans, hair pushed to one side, Beca probably looked the most like a functioning adult that Chloe had ever seen her. There was some strange hint of the future there, and damn if she didn’t want to be a part of that. “Perfect,” she replied, a half-smirk spreading across Beca’s face in response to her dreamy tone.

 

They left the building hand in hand, Beca’s need to kiss Chloe every few steps slowing their progress. She took the steps down from the ledge first, Chloe’s arm stretching as Beca refused to unclasp their hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” It was vulnerable, open, and hopeful all in one.

 

Chloe leaned down, kissing with Beca with all she had. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She watched Beca turn around the corner, only to step back a moment later to shoot Chloe a wave that stood as the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. And she’d be fine, just fine, as long as she knew tomorrow had Beca.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go. Excuse me while I harness the fluff of Christmas Chlo and Beca Mitchell, the dorkiest proposer alive, to go write something where I don’t rip one of my OTPs into a million pieces. I’m over on Tumblr as bicamitchell if you wanna say hi. Until later, my acapitches.


End file.
